


Upon Waking

by biswholocked



Series: JWP 2015 [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Childhood Memories, Comfort, Community: watsons_woes, Dreams, M/M, Nostalgia, Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 01:13:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4328145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biswholocked/pseuds/biswholocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock dreams. (Of course he does.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upon Waking

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day twelve of JWP. Today's prompt was "feature a dog in entry in some way", so of course I tried my hand at Redbeard for the first time. Wrote this while listening to [Death Cab for Cutie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mi6uRT7PxTQ).

Sherlock dreams. (Of course he does.) He’s in a field, surrounded by green grass and the scent of honeysuckle. The sun is warm upon his back, and Redbeard is beside him, tongue lolling out in satisfaction. Sherlock runs a hand down Redbeard’s flank, then back up to the dog’s head. Redbeard presses into Sherlock’s touch, until Sherlock yields and scratches behind his ears; the whine of happiness Redbeard gives in return burrows into Sherlock’s heart until he buries his head in Redbeard’s neck with a smile.

“Good boy,” he murmurs. “Good boy.” He runs his fingers through Redbeard’s fur, loses track of time in a haze of contentment.

He isn’t aware the dream is over until his eyes are open and he’s staring across the bed at John, whose face is lax with sleep. Disappointment and nostalgia pinch at Sherlock’s gut. The image of Redbeard is still layering itself across his vision, reality and dream twining themselves together; Sherlock blinks until it fades with reluctance, then watches John’s eyelids flutter. (In a REM cycle, then, Sherlock notes.)

Sherlock moves until he is pressed up against John, head tucked under John’s chin, nose pressed against John’s neck. His eyes close; a deep breath makes the sweetness of honeysuckle fade, but replaces it with _John_ , who smells of soap and the laundry powder that washes their sheets and the slightest hint of sweat. John’s pulse fills his ears.

Sherlock drifts back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/ con crit always welcome! This one felt a little bittersweet to me, but I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
